


The Waiting (Is The Hardest Part)

by Brenda



Category: Star Trek (AOS)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1364833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk wasn't used to feeling helpless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Waiting (Is The Hardest Part)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ignipes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/gifts).



> Originally written in March of 2011 for [this prompt post](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/952504.html).

After the cursory and quick medical check by McCoy ("barely a scratch, kid, you got lucky...now if you'll excuse me, I have a _real_ patient that needs me..."), Kirk left the chaos of Sickbay – left McCoy to his far more important task – and found himself outside of Spock's quarters with no real memory of how he got there. But going to his own quarters held little appeal, and he wasn't sure if he was up to going to the bridge and facing the inevitable questions. Maybe hiding out here made him a coward, but right now, he couldn't find it in him to care.

"Computer, security override Kirk Alpha Three-Eight." The doors slid open a moment later and Kirk stepped inside. "Lights on thirty percent."

The main living area was spartan, neat, nothing out of place. Kirk's gaze slid over a three-dimensional chess set on a table – he knew Spock and Chekov liked to play and wondered if they'd been in the middle of a game when the distress call had come – and a neatly kept desk with a small stack of PADDs and a small computer screen on the polished top. A Vulcan lute sat in a place of honor on a shelf next to a rather comfortable looking sofa. A colorfully woven blanket was strewn over the back cushions, and Kirk wondered if it had been a gift from Uhura or one of her relatives. He'd seen similar blankets in Uhura's quarters.

He sank down onto the desk chair, and brushed his fingers against the PADD closest to him. There was a glowing chunk of rock on the desk next to the computer screen – it had been a gift from Kirk when he'd come back from a shore leave visit to Golana. On the other side of the rock, there was a holovid of a smiling human that could only be Spock's mother. She'd been a lovely woman, Kirk thought. He wished he'd been able to meet her, and trade stories with her about her son.

Kirk glanced around the room again until the edges of it blurred together and he had to close his eyes to keep the colors from prisming in a watery haze. He tried to bite back the sob, but a small noise escaped his throat, unbidden, unwelcome. A scream started to well up, but he clenched his fists into tight circles until the feeling mercifully passed. It felt like he was choking, suffocating under the weight of his own helplessness, and he hated it, hated knowing that there was nothing he could do. He wasn't used to being static, stationary, without momentum to propel him forward, an obstacle to overcome. But the ship was running smoothly right now, or as smoothly as a starship ever ran, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that the one place he most wanted to be was the one place he'd be most in the way.

He had no idea how much time passed, how long he sat there, trying to breathe in Spock's essence – an impossible task, and he knew it, who could hope to contain a mind or a presence like Spock's, especially in such a confined space – but when he felt small, feminine hands knead the tense muscles under the back of his neck, he couldn't say he was surprised to know that she'd followed him as soon as she'd been able.

He had to clear his throat before he trusted himself to speak. "Has there...?"

"No," Uhura interrupted, softly, and Kirk heard the small tremor in her voice. "You know McCoy will comm you the second he's out of surgery."

Kirk nodded, then reached blindly behind him to catch Uhura's hand in his. "I'm so sorry, Nyota. So sorry." It was the first time he'd ever dared to use her first name. Neither noticed.

"Don't be," she replied, and squeezed his hand before stepping around him to sit in the chair next to him. He could tell she'd had a shower and had cleaned up, but she still looked like she hadn't slept in days. None of them had. She was dressed in civilian clothes – sleep pants and a shirt that seemed too big for her frame – but her eyes were clear and alert and Kirk saw she had her comm pinned to the shirt. Waiting, just as he was, for the inevitable news. "This isn't your fault," she said.

"Tell that to Ensign Robsen," Kirk scoffed, and the crack inside him widened to a chasm. He forced himself to continue. He owed the fallen the honor of their names, if nothing else. "And Lieutenant U'utho. And..." His voice broke, stuttered to a stop.

"Missions go bad. It's one of the first things we're taught at the Academy."

"Yeah, well, I don't believe in no-win scenarios, remember?"

"Not even you can cheat death, Jim," she replied, not unkindly. "We all knew what we were getting into when we signed on for Starfleet."

"I don't that'll be much comfort to Robsen's husband or his son. Or U'utho's family." He glanced at her, awed as always by her quiet strength, so much a part of her that he wondered if she was even aware of it. "Do _you_ feel comforted at all?"

To her credit, she didn't even flinch at the bitter tone. "I take comfort in the fact that Spock was doing his duty and that he's got the best doctor in the 'Fleet working on him right now."

"It wasn't his _duty_ to take that hit," Kirk countered, battling back the next wave of helpless anger by sheer force of will. Lashing out at her wouldn't change anything.

"Yes," Uhura corrected softly, "it was. Protect the ship, protect the captain. In that order."

"I'm not..." Worth it, he wanted to say, but he knew better. He'd wanted the damn chair, and he knew what it meant to have it. To have that responsibility. Intellectually, he'd known he'd lose good people, he'd known he'd have to make sacrifices, and that he'd have to make horrific decisions for the good of the crew. But it didn't make the ache in his chest hurt any less.

"Spock thinks you are," Uhura smiled, seeming to read his thoughts. Just a small upturn of her lips, but it was enough. "If we're going to wait, I think we'd be more comfortable on the sofa, don't you?"

"You don't think it's a little weird for us to wait here?"

"I think we're exactly where he would want us to be," Uhura replied, and Kirk allowed her to pull him to his feet and shuffle him over to the sofa. She tucked her feet under her and leaned against him, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her close. It was the first time in years he'd held a woman without the expectation of sex.

"So, tell me how you and Spock met," he said, pleased when his voice didn't crack on saying Spock's name. Maybe a little of Uhura's faith was rubbing off on him.

Uhura laughed, the sound bright and musical and just hearing it filled Kirk with hope. They'd be alright, his ship and his crew, he thought. They were the best of the best, after all, the pride of Starfleet, and even though it was small comfort, it was still true.

"Freshman year, xenolinguistics," she started, and he let the sound of her voice wash over him like a balm.

***


End file.
